


[HIATUS] you're setting more than my heart on fire (please call the ambulance i need the security deposit on this house back)

by katsukidone



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: College AU, Dancer AU, Fluff, Help yuuri lol, M/M, MOBA, Mutual Pining, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, Romance, Writer!Viktor, Yuri has a potty mouth, but also a lot of stupidness, drunk!Yuuri, jk it's erotica and yakov is balding bc of his purposefully factually incorrect coitus, lol, maybe smut look i don't know im 12, no promises about viktuuri, nothing underage so lol otayuri is pure and kind, they go to an anime con, think league but less copyrighted, viktor writes sappy romances as a living, viktor's THIRSTIER ASS, viktuuri, vitya is a video game character, yuuri likes video games i feel the urge to capitalize on that, yuuri's thirsty ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsukidone/pseuds/katsukidone
Summary: Yuuri’s a normal college student, living a normal college life with a normal amount of crippling college debt. Yuuri also has embarrassingly consistent recurring wet dreams about a very fictional, very attractive video game avatar ‘Vitya’ that takes the center stage in Phichit’s horrible snapchat stories.That is, until a reluctant trip to Sochi’s biggest MMO/MOBA/RPG convention ends with Yuuri in both a drunken stupor and a hot Russian cosplayer’s lap..“I did it. My career is ruined. I need to go back to Japan and drown myself in my family’s onsen.” Phichit didn’t say anything in response, but the sound of his iPhone camera shutter going off sure did.“Oh, Yuuri.” Yuuri could practically hear the sparkling of Phichit’s innocuous blinking from where he kneeled in front of the toilet bowl, two hands clasped over his beet-red face. Another click. “You shouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’m sure he gets stuff like that all the time.” Being the saint he is, Phichit leaned over and flushed the toilet, grinning as Yuuri watched the remains of his dignity swirl down the clinically white Bowl of Depression.





	1. maybe it's a match made in heaven, maybe it's maybelline

Yuuri knew that logically, he couldn’t actually fall in love with a computer-generated avatar that was frankly, rather pixelated and scarily devoid of expression aside from the set ‘wink’ action that still made the fucking _moths_ inside Yuuri’s stomach riot.

(“I don’t know,” Phichit said, humming cheerfully as he scrolled past the Internet equivalent of the Devil’s Asshole, Reddit, with a placated expression. His eyes were gleaming rather maniacally, and Yuuri scooted away from where they both laid on the single crappy twin bed out of instinct. “Japan apparently made marriages to anime characters legal.” Even if he hadn’t made it a point to stare at Yuuri, the intention was still obnoxiously clear.

“No,” Yuuri took a deep breath, hoping he didn’t look half as constipated as he felt. “I’m not—stop looking at me like that, Phichit—I’m not marrying _Vitya_.” The Look morphed into a deadpan stare.

“Yuuri, you own all of the legal merchandise and a good percentage of the fan ones. I’ve seen you look forlornly at his body pillow when you think I’m not looking. _You woke me up crying when they released the new official character art, for fuck’s sake._ I’m signing you up.”

Yuuri smashed his face into Phichit’s pillow and screamed.)

It turns out Phichit needed Yuuri’s Japanese I.D. and, well, actual comprehension in Japanese to complete the form, so Yuuri was in the clear. Of course, this was after Phichit spent a good hour and a half squinting carefully at Yuuri as he aggressively bookmarked the page again and again. Yuuri had ignored both Phichit and the internal urge to wilt 

So the next time Phichit brought up an idea revolving around their mutual love of MOBA’s (and Yuuri’s love of a certain character in a certain MOBA), it had been rejected almost immediately; both of them were full-time students, and Yuuri would probably be slaughtered if Minako-sensei ever found out he missed out on a part because he was too busy gallivanting around some convention center with Phichit instead of practicing.

Unfortunately, two and a half years of living together were apparently not enough to effectively communicate Phichit’s stubbornness through to Yuuri’s thick skull. Before he knew it, they were both hovering around the entrance to terminal three of the International Airport of Detroit, tickets, and luggage in hand.

“We’re going to have so much fun, Yuuri! Just you wait.” Phichit said, bouncing up and down excitedly, practically shoving a brochure in his face.

_‘Russia’s Largest MMO/MOBA/RPG Convention! (SMMO-CON) Gamers Everywhere Unite for Fun and Festivities! Book Your Tickets Today.’_

Yuuri wanted to throw up. 

“It says Sochi is like, super well known for this convention. Well, maybe not since I’m sure there are other things in Sochi. Like, the Olympics I think? But that’s not important.” The couple in line before them turned and glared, though Phichit just spun around and grinned at them with the power of the Fucking Sun. 

(“It’s such a shame you didn’t want to cosplay, Yuuri. You would've been so _great_.” Phichit later commented, still grinning as a cranky TSA agent patted him down for setting off the alarm with the life-sized replica sword Phichit threw into the suitcase hurriedly before they left.)

Yuuri just smiled sheepishly at the officer, hastily shoving his own suitcase along the conveyer belt. The officer took one look at the wig that had been tossed into Yuuri’s suitcase by accident and gestured at Phichit, who waved cheerfully from where he was still being held up at the body scan and raised his eyebrows.

“You with him?”

Yuuri wanted to scream.

\---

_“Motherfucker! Suck my dick, stupid cunts!”_

Viktor frowned, glancing up from his (nearly empty) word document. He didn’t exactly picture the hissy blond teenager to be a saint or anything, but surely this was a bit… much. 

“ _Yurochka_ ,” he called out, swaying awkwardly in the doorway. Otabek looked up from where he sat next to Yuri on the couch, looking as calm and nonchalant as ever. His hand was still tangled in the fur of Yuri’s cat (Potya, was it?), who Viktor sincerely believes to be more of a hell-spawn than even the owner himself. “Watch the language, will you? I could hear you from your grandfather’s study.” _Hint: Tone it down you little brat, unless you want to send your old man into permanent medical shock because of your video games._

Yuri didn’t even blink. Briefly, the screen flashed red, and a large ‘Defeat’ logo popped up. Instead of responding, he picked up a strawberry from the tray in Otabek’s hand and started chewing angrily. Viktor didn’t think even it was possible to chew a _strawberry_ angrily, but apparently he was wrong.

“Oi, old man,” Yuri said, seemingly ignoring Viktor’s previous statement completely. Suppressing the urge to start twitching, Viktor plastered on his largest, most charming fake smile.

_Teenagers are a blessing, Viktor. You can do this, Viktor._

“Yes, _Yurochka_?”

“Can Otabek and I go to SMMO-con?” Viktor blinked. Yuri ‘ _I-Do-What-I-want-you’re-not-my-dad_ ’ Plisetsky, is asking for permission on something?

_Good lord, has the world finally ended?_

“em-memo-what?” Yuri’s mouth twisted into its signature scowl, though a traitorous hint of pink dusted his cheeks.

 _Aw, the little Demon Offspring is embarrassed_! Viktor could barely contain his glee. “Yurochka, I’m afraid this _old man_ doesn’t understand the tech-y video game lingo you youngsters have. So, I’ll ask again; what exactly are you asking for?” As enjoyable as it was to watch Yuri descend into a hiss of uncontrollable rage only a teenager is capable of exuding, Viktor was immensely relieved when Otabek finally cut in.

“It’s basically a video game convention. Yuri,” He paused and turned to look at the sulking figure, who huffed slightly. Apparently, that was cue enough since Otabek turned back to Viktor (who was looking at the two of them, eyebrows raised in skepticism) and continued, “Yuri really wants to go, since the creators of his favorite game will apparently be hosting a panel there. But—,”

“But grandpa doesn’t think Otabek would be responsible enough as a supervisor, which I think it’s absolute bullshit—,” Yuri cut in reluctantly, and Viktor resisted the urge to cackle, “so I was hoping you’d agree since apparently grandpa trusts you, or something.”

“Or something.” Viktor interrupted, looking entirely too smug at the prospect of possibly getting roped into even _more_ babysitting duty. (Seriously, Nikolai, your grandson is a migraine.)

“Yeah, well I figured you guys were about the same age so—,” Otabek gently elbowed Yuri, who to Viktor’s complete and utter surprise, shut up immediately. “Ugh, Fine. Whatever, just forget about it.”

Viktor smiled again, this time a lot more genuine. Some may call Viktor an asshole or whatever for laughing at the misfortune of this fifteen-year-old, who’s probably just going through a lot since teenage-hood really is a bitch, but Viktor is a whopping twenty-five years old, single, and already six months late with a manuscript from the complete and utter lack of inspiration, so he’ll laugh at this fucking gremlin if he wants to, thank you very much.

He shouldn’t even consider it. Yuri’s been nothing but a headache since the beginning. Besides, Viktor doesn’t give a single shit about video games or whatever it is causing Yuri to break out in a plethora of profanities that would surely cause Nikolai to break out in a sweat.

As he turned around to exit and leave the two (okay, one) unruly teenagers to their business, Viktor paused. Really, what’s the harm in accompanying little Yuri and his bodyguard to some convention for a day or so? _It’s not like you have anything better to do_ , the traitorous voice at the back of his head commented. _You’ve hardly started on your first draft. You’re already sending all the editors into an early grave, so what’s the point?_ If that voice sounded suspiciously like Yakov, Viktor ignored it.

Yuri’s a good kid. Probably.

Viktor sighed. “I’ll do it." 

“What?” As Viktor spun back around, he managed to catch Yuri looking both angry and pleasantly surprised. Distantly, he wondered if it was a genetically Plisetsky thing, since Viktor’s fairly certain he’s caught Nikolai with that same expression multiple times before. “You’re not fucking around, are you? If you are, I swear—,”

“ _Yuri, how could you_?” Viktor batted his eyelashes, grinning as the angry teenager practically recoiled in fear. Otabek, as usual, was emotionless. “Of course I’m not! I’m so glad you asked; I was worried you’d never warm up to me. It’s _so_ great that you want me to go to the convention with you.”

As predicted, Yuri shot up from his seat on the sofa and stormed out of the room, still cursing. Potya scurried off Otabek’s lap and trailed after her owner, characteristically scowling at Viktor on the way.

“Thanks, Mr. Nikiforov, I’m sure Yuri’s really excited about it.” Otabek stood up, brushing off Potya’s stray hairs off his jeans.

Viktor turned to focus properly on the television screen, the bright colors practically assaulting his vision. Below the ‘Defeat’ Viktor spotted earlier, there’s a small profile picture of… Potya? The user next to it read _icetiger_2001_ , and Viktor nearly snorted. However, what caught his attention was the floating icon next to the name.

“Really?” Viktor asked, rather incredulous. “’ _Russian Fairy’?_   What kind of name is that?”

Otabek only shrugged. “She’s a dark elf.” _What_. “She’s one of the newer champions, and Yuri wanted to try her out since everyone says she does crazy damage.”

 _Wow. None of that was understandable,_ Viktor thought. Maybe this was more complicated than he initially thought. Otabek apparently understood how lost Viktor was since he took the initiative to further elaborate.

“You choose a champion from the menu,” He explained, picking up the remote and rapidly flipping through a myriad of colorful avatars, all in either skimpy outfits or with humanly impossible muscle structure (Viktor may have been hallucinating, but he’s fairly sure some of them were _flying_ ), “and each one has like, a different set of statistics, such as damage or healing or speed and stuff.” He paused on one, and Viktor watched, captivated as CGI frost covered the character selection screen. “This one’s Yuri’s favorite.”

_Huh._

_What the fuck is a Katsudon?_


	2. Baby You're A Fire Hazard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed because I have school tomorrow morning and I can barely read right now. //slapped
> 
> Anyways, here's the second chapter! BTW, most of the chapter titles are going to be silly w/o too much contextual evidence to back it up. Occasionally, I'll probably think of a clever one or two, but as it stands, that's not happening anytime soon :')
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

As weird as it was, Viktor genuinely found the world of video games fascinating. Of course, it hardly compared to his own world of writing and novels with entire universes carefully drafted in its pages, but hey, that world was currently being somewhat of a disappointment.

_(Like Viktor was to Yakov, but really, that’s not the point right right now.)_

“What does this do again?” He asked, tapping rather incessantly at the golden arrow-like button on the screen of his smartphone. Sitting across from him, Yuri looked like he was about to burst an ulcer. Viktor swore the size of veins on the kid’s forehead was increasing exponentially.

“You don’t _tap_ it like that, dumbass. You hold it down to move. Here,” Before Viktor could protest, Yuri had already snatched his phone away, practically _growling_ when he saw Viktor had somehow managed to die again. “Oh my god, how many times have you died already?! It’s taking more than two minutes to re-gen. That’s ridiculous.”

Viktor only watched, bewildered as the young Plisetsky rapidly tapped away at the screen, the continuous ringing of what could only be described as animated gold coins falling in a pile coming from the phone’s tiny speakers. “Didn’t you like, just tell me not to tap?”

Yuri sneered. “Don’t tap when you’re moving; and ‘yes’ tap when you’re collecting gold. Or attacking.”

Huh. For a brief moment, Viktor’s stupid mind thought, _hey, that could be applied to a lot of different disciplines in life_ , but shut it down almost immediately. No need to be giving young Yuri any more ideas. Instead, he pouted, making his eyes go as large as humanly possible as he stared at him.

Yuri, the heartless little thing, paid him no mind.

“ _Yuro-chka,”_ Viktor practically cooed in the most condescending way possible, “Why won’t you let me play Katsudon? He’s your _favorite_ isn’t he?”

Immediately, the teenager flushed bright red. “Oi, watch it, old man. You’re already fucking up my rankings. I worked my ass off for the new ‘Eros’ skin—I don’t need the other players thinking I’m some stupid bougie noob when you inevitably fuck it all up.”

_Wow! Teenagers are such a joy. Really._

“Fucking up— _as you so eloquently phrased it_ —what, exactly?” Blinking innocently, Viktor made sure to take an extra-long sip of his tea like the extra bitch he was before continuing, “Your, _what was it?_ Silver ranking?”

Viktor likes to imagine he metaphorically dropped the mic with that statement since the silence that followed afterward was _fucking_ _deafening_.

_Three, two, one…_

“SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID OLD MAN; IT’S NOT MY FAULT I ONLY STARTED THIS GAME A WEEK AGO OKAY, SO FUCK YOU AND—,”

If anyone asked, getting kicked out of his favorite coffee shop was totally worth it, seeing as Viktor got to see the tiny demon look like an overripe tomato the entire way home, swearing vengeance on Viktor and his entire bloodline. It made the fact Yuri ended up ultimately getting placated by three mere street vendor piroshkies as a peace offering that much sadder and more disturbing.

The usually silent and infinitely more reserved part of Viktor (the part that wasn’t, as Yuri claimed, ‘completely murdered and destroyed by the gross porn he writes,’) thought it was quite sweet how much Yuri cared. Even if he didn’t completely understand the appeal of video game champions or battles or half the words young Plisetsky was sprouting off during lunch, being so immersed and passionate about one’s interest to the point of rabid defensiveness was something Viktor had to reluctantly respect.

After all, he was the one that kept insisting _barebacking_ was an infinitely more romantic gesture than roses or candlelit dinners or  _’any of that sappy vanilla shit’_ back when he still had long silvery strands for hair and little to no self-impulse control.

Yeah, Yuri really wasn't that bad, as far as teenagers went.

“Hey, are you fucking listening to me?” It was only then when Viktor realized they had already arrived back at the apartment building. Yuri was scowling at him, bits of piroshki still stuck to the corners of his mouth. “I asked you how we’re supposed to be getting to SMMO-con. Don’t forget Otabek’s coming with us.”

Oh. Right. 

Viktor hummed, absentmindedly jangling the keys around in the lock until the stubborn door finally gave away and creaked open, the hinges screaming as the door was then kicked in by the ever-angry blond teenager.

“I, uh can probably drive you guys.” Of course, he’ll have to bring Makkachin too, so— “You can fit inside my trunk, right?”

“What the fuck, Viktor? No!” Yuri bristled, “You’re telling me you’re going to drive a whole ass 2,000km all the way to fucking _Sochi_? With me inside your fucking _trunk_?”

Viktor shrugged. “What can I do? Aeroflot hates Makkachin, and Makkachin hates it back. Last time, she ignored me for a whole day for subjecting her to it.” Strangely enough, Yuri remained quiet. “Besides, I doubt your grandpa would be okay with getting plane tickets just so you can fly to Sochi for, what, three days?”

Yuri deflated almost instantly. “Fine, whatever. But you can’t bring Makkachin.” Viktor turned to him quizzically. “SMMO-con has a strict no-pet policy.”

Viktor was wrong; Yuri was clearly the spawn of the devil himself.

- 

If Yuuri didn’t know better, he’d think the ‘O’ in Dunkin Donuts was the glowing halo of an angel. Next to him, Phichit was busy glaring at the tiny sample sized bottle of lotion provided by United Airlines. What appeared to be the rest of Phichit’s luggage was strewn messily around them from where they sat at the gate of their transfer flight.

The freakishly red letters stating _‘New York City - > _ _Moscow’_ blinked back at Yuuri.

“Seriously? Two squeezes, and it’s already dried out. Here, hold this,” Distantly, Yuuri remembers getting one of Phichit’s eyeshadow palettes shoved onto his lap. It seemed that no matter how many times he traveled, jetlag would be an inevitable part of it. More so since Phichit booked a horrible 7am flight for no presumable reason other than fucking with Yuuri’s mind.

Yuuri closed his eyes and took a deep breath before prompting chugging down the rest of his lukewarm airport coffee. The world eventually stopped spinning and blurring together in front of his eyes. Good. Suddenly, he felt miles away from where he sat in the shitty waiting area in front of the gate.

Was this really a good idea? Distantly, he could hear Phichit’s voice floating somewhere at the back of his mind. Surely something or the other about Yuuri having to get out more often, find people with similar hobbies, _yada_ yada _._..

But it's not like he doesn't have _any_ friends or anything; Phichit surely counts. And… Minako? She couldn’t really be counted as Yuuri’s _peer_ , but she was definitely someone he considered a friend. Especially after everything they’ve been through together. Though maybe to her, Yuuri was just a student. A student that still clings around even though she hasn’t taught him for at least eight years now.

Besides, Mari was always there to for him to talk to, even if she tends to make fun of him for being her ‘otaku bro.’ She still bought all those posters for him and even waited in line for the midnight release of those new figurines when Yuuri still had his 10pm curfew.

Yeah, Mari was nice.

_(Belatedly, he wondered when the last time either of them called to check in was.)_

“Hey,” a hand was waving in front of his face. Yuuri blinked. Phichit was frowning at him, with only one eye’s worth of liner completed. He seemed to be in the middle of filling his eyebrows since the skeptical look he gave Yuuri was particularly prominent. 

“You look upset. Are the nerves getting to you?”

“No. Nervous stomach, actually.” He tried to pass it off with an awkward smile, dangling the empty cup in his fingers slightly. Phichit was still frowning.

“Yuuri, look. I didn’t mean to stress you out, or anything—,” Phichit trailed off awkwardly. “If you really don’t feel well…” This time, it was Yuuri’s turn to frown.

“I—no, you’re right. I, uh,” Yuuri felt something lodge in his throat. “I should get out more. Yeah. It’ll be fun.” It definitely didn’t _feel_ like fun, but whatever. Suddenly, he felt Phichit lean over and grab his hand.

“That really wasn’t the goal of the con, Yuuri. Yeah, I know I can get a bit pushy sometimes,” Phichit turned and grinned sheepishly at Yuuri, “But I’m not going to push you to find anyone if you’re uncomfortable. I just don’t think there’s anything you should be worrying about. You’re a cool guy, yeah?” 

“Uh, thanks?”

Phichit rolled his eyes. “I mean it, Yuuri. You’re Celestino’s favorite for a reason.”

“What? I’m not—,” Before Yuuri could protest, Phichit had already cut in again, hilariously miming the _shush_ motion with his fingers.

“ _Shhh_! Just listen to me, dammit!” He was grinning when he suddenly pulled Yuuri out of his seat, still holding him by the hands. A couple of old ladies next to them scoffed, but Yuuri paid them no mind. “I’m just saying, there’s nothing with indulging in your hobbies a bit. Even if we don’t talk to a _single damn_ person at this dumb convention, you’ll still get to see tons of panels and games and _Vitya_ merch. So just put this whole idea of this being a test or whatever out of your mind. Just be you! And if that means minimum human interaction, then so be it” Phichit was still grinning, the characteristic little sparkle in his eye as bright as ever. “Now, just breath.”

Yuuri did. It didn’t feel like the weight on his shoulders were lifted, nor did the air around him suddenly clear magically. But he felt better. He could _see_ again, see the billboards and the signs without everything blurring together. Could feel the plushness of the carpet beneath his feet. He felt normal.

The announcers declared it was time for them to board their flight shortly after, and Yuuri simply watched in amusement as Phichit practically dumped everything into his suitcase, having to sit on it just get it closed. He handed over his boarding pass without incident, Phichit chatting excitedly behind him the whole time.

_Yeah, maybe he could do this after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, more plot/character building. I promise we're getting to the action soon- I just want to get some of the world-building out of the way before we get any further.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: were you guys surprised at the ending ',:) anyways, I kind of really like this idea, so I hope you guys do too. I'll try to update on a regular basis, but school's kind of a bitch so the 'try' is definitely emphasized there.
> 
> *EDIT: This will definitely be elaborated on further later, but just to avoid confusion, for now, Yuuri and Yuri are playing separate MOBA games, but yes, the whole point is they're attending the same convention.


End file.
